Plus One
by flaw-in-the-plan
Summary: In an odd twist of fate, Draco becomes the hated at Hogwarts after the war. Seeking solitude, he turns to the Room of Requirements- only to find a burnt ruin. Except there's someone else who needs the Room as well- Harry Potter. The boy whom Draco has no problem attributing his unhappiness to. But love and friendship pop up in unexpected places, especially where things are broken.


**Disclaimer: As if these characters are mine. I wish. Oh, JKR, you inspire me so, come and take a look at the result.**

**A/N: This is my first long fic! I hope you enjoy it. I'm really sorry but I don't update very frequently, but let's hope I do things better this time. Thanks to you all :)**

**Plus One**

* * *

**His Audacity**

A year in Azkaban.

His mother was spending _an entire year in Azkaban._

Draco walked down the halls of the great prison, and all around him, Death Eaters sat slumped deep in their cells, not jeering at him, not reaching out for him as would prisoners elsewhere. He tried his best to avoid their stagnant gazes. They were horrific. Beside him, his Patronus dragged itself onward, dull and weak.

Draco was having a hard time walking forward. He tried to keep his mind clear, tried to focus on only the black space that enveloped him, but nevertheless, he felt himself growing dizzy with cold. The desolation of the dementors was everywhere.

He pulled through a couple of more steps, but when his patronus began to whimper, Draco scrambled for a lifeboat, any one memory that would help…

Almost immediately, his mother's face swam in front of him- an image of her smiling at him when he returned home after his first year at Hogwarts- she gave him a hug.

Draco felt a tiny wisp of cold leave him, and he was able to walk faster, the image of his mother pulling him forward…

But suddenly, all too soon, Narcissa's cheekbones grew gaunt, and her eyes grew empty, and freezing metal bars slammed shut over her thin body. Draco again felt the heaviness rushing in.

It was hard to think of his mother, because every thought of her lead back to the fact that she was imprisoned. Every thought of her was tainted with war. And every golden image he'd locked away in his mind was beginning to decay and rot on a lonely island prison in the middle of the sea…

Draco squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. His mother wouldn't return to him brain dead. _She couldn't. _She would be whole, he would make sure of it. He would visit her every week, without fail. If that was what it would take to keep her from slipping, he would do it.

Even if the guards refused to escort him out, as they had today, he would slave through the terrifying journey just for her.

Draco wished he could have traded his month's imprisonment in the juvenile holding center underneath the ministry for a life sentence, if it meant his mother could be free. He'd been a Death Eater too, hadn't he been? He'd almost killed Dumbledore. His punishment should have been greater than his mother's.

But the law was relentless. Or forgiving, according to the Wizengamot.

Memories of the court hearing invaded Draco's mind, and his face burned. They'd all stared at him as if he should be thankful. Thankful. As if they were doing him a favor in sending both of his parents to prison; as if they were doing him a favor in leaving him with no one. They'd ignored him as he'd stood there, crying without shame, begging, pleading for them to let her be. They'd simply looked the other way. Because apparently, the law stopped caring once you turned seventeen, which, for Draco, was in just two days.

And Harry Potter had been there, too- Harry Potter, who had the uncanny ability to make every situation a hundred times worse. They'd all stared up at him with such respect, such admiration, as if he were some god. As if he alone had saved them. It made sense- half the people who'd come to Narcissa's hearing had only been there to catch a glimpse of Harry Potter.

A court hearing that determined the rest of his life, and they'd treated it like a spectacle, an event, something exciting, something they could use to blissfully continue their tireless exaltation of The Boy Who Lived.

Saint Potter! So merciful, so benevolent for having shortened the death eater Narcissa Malfoy's life sentence to a year! He was a hero, yet again.

But not to Draco. He wanted to strangle the lot of them. _Azkaban was Azkaban_, he thought. It didn't matter, the time spent- he'd heard enough alcohol-induced tales from death eaters about how it'd only taken a few weeks, even days, for them to lose it...

_"Don't worry about us, Draco. Pursue a career, have a successful life," his mother had said as she'd peered at him calmly from behind bars, her skin already pale, her eyes already dull. "There's nothing holding you back now."_

Finally, Draco saw the light of the exit door. Apparently his hatred for Potter had been enough to keep the heaviness out. He vanished his whimpering Patronus as he stepped out into the cold air of the island.

_Mother will be fine. Mother will be fine. _He repeated the chant to himself endlessly.

As Draco approached the apparition dock, he spotted two figures huddled together, walking around, examining the great prison. Walking close by them was a glowing stag.

_Just_ the person he wanted to see. And, by the looks of that big bushy hair, Granger was with him. Draco's jaw clenched. His luck was rubbish.

As he neared them, he pointedly kept his eyes to his feet, not daring to meet their eyes. He stayed close to the cliffside, keeping as far away from them as possible. But even so, he could feel their hard stares boring into his skull, and suddenly, their murmurs were cut short, leaving him naked. He tucked his chin into his chest, crossed his fingers, and hoped they would ignore him- the enemy, the boy whose life they'd repeatedly saved-

He walked faster. The dock was nearing-

"Malfoy!" came her shrill voice. Draco froze.

Two more steps and he'd have been able to cross the gateway and apparate. Just _two more steps_. He turned and raised his head.

"Granger. Potter," he said, his voice calm. He looked up. They weren't even facing him. No, the two were hunched together, their backs to him, trying to muffle their conversation without much success.

"You should talk to him," whispered Granger.

"What the hell do I say?" said Potter.

"I don't know, just-"

"I told you not to-"

"His mother saved your-"

"I saved his-"

"HARRY POTTER-"

"Twice!"

Draco watched a seagull battle the sudden wind that'd appeared, and tried to tune out their conversation. But the island was deserted, and noise carried.

"You owe him some explanation." said Granger now, and he could tell by the sudden lift in her voice that she was facing him, that she was looking at him. That she was staring at him with a face full of pity.

"Hermione," Harry began quietly, trying to lower his voice even further, but failing. The frustration was too evident. "I don't owe him _anything_.

Hermione stormed away from Harry and approached Draco, whose wand was already out.

"Get away from me," he said, the wind picking up and blowing his uncut hair around his face. He pushed a strand away from his eyes, and they began to burn. Whether or not it was because of the wind, he had no idea.

Hermione saw the wand and stopped mid-step, and held her hands up. "I just want to talk to you," she said. Her voice was soft. Kind, almost. But Draco couldn't hear it.

"You and Potter have no right to even look at me," he said. "Let alone talk to me. Has he told you what he's done?"

She said nothing.

"HAS HE?" he yelled now, and Potter approached the scene, his wand drawn, and stood defensively next to Hermione.

"Get away from me, the both of you," spat Draco, jabbing his wand towards them. They flinched.

"Draco, you don't understand," called Hermione, pushing her hair behind her ears. "There wasn't much Harry could do that would keep her from going to Azkaban; she was a death eater after all-"

"_Don't_ talk about my mother," said Draco, his voice low. Suddenly, the sight of them standing there together, away from him, staring at him with such pity, was overwhelming. He was reminded of his year away from Hogwarts, how he'd had no one but death eaters for company. He was reminded of his task, that terrible task that'd brought him near insanity. He was reminded of the constant fear and shame and unhappiness, of the pure worthlessness of his life, and watching them standing there, he wanted to tear himself apart. He hated the fact that for them, the war was over. He hated the fact that they were happy, he hated the fact that he never would be.

He was ruined. And they were heroes.

"Don't _you_ ever talk about her-" he repeated, and then, though he knew that it would get him nowhere in this day, he uttered the unforgivable, almost incapable of keeping it in: "-you mudblood."

A look of disgust crossed over Granger's face, and she raised her wand.

"Take it back!" yelled Potter, advancing on him without wasting a moment. The wind pushed aside his hair and revealed his scar for a moment, as reminding him of a secret weapon he kept hidden in his pocket.

The weapon worked. Draco caught sight of the scar, and oddly was thrown off guard for a moment. He remembered the news articles he'd read of Potter's eerie connection to You-Know-Who's mind, how Potter had once been able to see right into it. _Did it hurt_?

Harry lunged at Draco and grabbed his collar, and pushed him roughly backwards.

Draco snapped out of his reverie. He stumbled back several feet and fell to the ground, and above him Potter was advancing. The fight came back to Draco, and he stood up and raised his wand. He was so ready- ready to cast a curse at Potter, ready to tear him to shreds. Ready to be captured by the wizard guards he knew were watching, ready to be dragged off and put into a cell right next to his mother's- a curse formed in his lips-

His body shook, and he fell backwards again with a thump against the hard rock, as the freezing spell took effect. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Granger and Potter running towards the dock, never glancing back once in his direction. He watched as they apparated without a single word. And the wind, which hindered the guards in their attempts to get to Draco and release him from the curse, howled angrily at Draco's face, pushing at him, yelling at him, tearing at him- and finally, in the end, it cackled, and succeeded in eliciting a single salty tear from his left eye.


End file.
